We
by Victoria123Fangirling
Summary: When Sherlock says something that catches Molly off guard, she can't help but do a little interrogation herself. Sherlolly. Oneshot.


**Alrighty guys, it's my first non-crack fic! Woohoo, I'm moving up in the world! It's also my longest fic so far! Anyway I hope I've done it justice and everyone is in character enough. I know I can get carried away and they become a little OOC. It takes place before the series/season 3 finale. Enjoy!**

 **I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters, plots, etc.**

Molly had come a long way since Reichenbach. She had become more confident around Sherlock, better at her work, and more comfortable in her own skin. Yet here she was, silently watching Sherlock from behind her microscope. She was sure he was acutely aware of her staring; he was acutely aware of _everything._ She felt like she should say something, a certain tension swelling in her heart. She resisted the urge to fidget.

"Molly?" She nearly squeaked at the sound of Sherlock's voice. "You're staring." He kept his eyes on his microscope, but she thought she saw the hint of a smirk on his face.

"S-Sorry," she stuttered. She resented how much he could read about her feelings from the tremor in her voice or even a single motion of her body. Looking back down at her own work she felt herself blush. She shouldn't feel this way, even if she and Tom weren't together anymore. She was getting over a break up; all Sherlock was was a rebound for her feelings.

"After all you've done to help me escape Moriarty, I don't think we have much reason to be nervous around one another, do we?" he commented.

She cringed internally at Moriarty's name; it was frightening to think of all the horrors he had done and realize that it was the same guy she had dated. Something about Sherlock's sentence threw her off however.

"We?" she asked, surprised at her own confidence. This type of topic always seemed forbidden between them. Her question seemed simple in words, but she knew it was more complicated than that, that she was asking for more than just a clarification of what he had said. She replayed his question in her head, already starting to over analyze.

 _I don't think we have much reason to be nervous around one another, do we?_

 _I don't think_ WE _have much reason to be nervous around_ ONE ANOTHER _, do we?_

 _I don't think we have much reason to be_ NERVOUS _around one another,_ DO _we?_

"Yes," he answered simply. She stared at him openly now. We. _We?_ Why we? Why use those words? Why say it that way unless…but no. This was Sherlock she was talking about. "You're wondering about my choice of words," he said after a silent moment, finally looking up from his microscope and making eye contact with her.

"Yes!" she responded frustrated, nearly putting her hand to her mouth in embarrassment, but instead glaring at the detective.

He rolled his eyes slightly. "I merely meant that you should not be nervous-"

"You said we," she said sternly. There was a brief moment of silence where they each stared at each other. "You said _we_ don't have much reason to be nervous around each other." She swallowed before asking her question. "Sherlock? Are you- Do I make you nervous?" She was surprised by her own bluntness, but a smirk started to form as he visibly baulked.

"No, of course not," he scoffed. It didn't hurt her as much as it usually would. Molly could see past the detective's front, even if it was a very good one. She had made her own deductions in a matter of seconds. Dilated pupils, slight glimmer of sweat on the brow. The quick motion of his eyes and the hasty rebuke said enough. Even his posture, just slightly showing how tense he was, was a tell. Though he was doing well to hide it, Sherlock Holmes _was_ nervous. And he was getting more so the longer she stared at him. He turned back to his microscope quickly.

Molly did take a brief second to relish it, but this was getting too awkward; they had to talk. "Sherlock."

He looked at her impatiently, then took a deep breath when he saw that she wasn't backing down.

"Molly, I'm married to my work." He tried to sound patronizing.

"I didn't say anything about marriage." Her tone was teasing, a smile fighting its way onto her face. If Sherlock was giving his old adage of being married to his work and therefore he couldn't have a relationship bit, then it meant he already knew where this conversation was going. She was enjoying this too much.

" _I didn't mean-"_ he ground out, and she caught the faint blush on his face.

"Plus I _am_ work," she added and they both looked at the paperwork and microscopes between them on the lab bench. When they looked back at each other, Sherlock was frowning.

"Stop."

She could tell that she was starting to push too far, but she knew Sherlock and this might just be what he needed. This conversation could end in nothing; it could end in heartbreak (for her anyway). It could end in something more, the kind of something more she had always wished for but forced herself to be realistic about. Not knowing what he meant would always be worse than knowing and being hurt. She could move on from that kind of pain. With that knowledge, she only tilted her head as if confused by his request, pressuring him to go on and explain.

He closed his eyes and groaned. "Argh! Why-why do you-" He ruffled his hair as if trying to get rid of the thoughts. "You're everywhere!"

Her heart beat picked up, but she wasn't sure how to respond.

"In my mind palace. You're in every hallway, every corner, every _room_ …even the padded-" He stopped, a dark look passing across his eyes. He spoke firmly as he looked into her eyes. "I don't want you there, not-not with _him."_

She was getting confused and a little hurt when he said he didn't want her there. But she didn't understand what exactly he was talking about, and that look… she had seen it once before. In this very room two years ago, when he had asked her to help him, when he had said she counted, that he needed her, that same look was in his eyes now. The sincerity was what hit her. He wasn't in trouble; this wasn't a 'thank you' like after they'd solved crimes. There was a kind of raw emotion there. Molly knew one thing for sure; this had gotten serious fast and there was only one thing she knew to do.

She spoke softly. " _Sherlock,_ I don't know what you're talking about… What do you need?" Offer assistance.

She took a step forward and his head shot up at her words. His eyes were locked on her. She froze.

"What do you-" she started to repeat out of concern.

"Molly, this is going to sound incredibly cliché and very similar to _that_ night two years ago, but… you. I need you. I've always needed you. And not just so I can do experiments, or solve crimes, or even escape a psychopath that used to be your ex-boyfriend!"

"He wasn't-"

"It doesn't matter! I need you because you're always there, because you're you. I've treated you…" He took a shaky breath as if a little horrified by his own actions. "… _horribly,_ and yet somehow I'm still allowed access to your lab, to body parts for experiments, to you. You never turn me away and I will admit I've taken advantage of that in the past. But you matter a great deal to me and now… Now I can't turn you away. That's why you're everywhere in my mind palace, not because you refuse to leave, but because I won't let you, won't let myself…"

His speech lulled, but Molly was trying to wrap her head around what Sherlock was telling her.

"Molly, I'm a selfish man," he started more slowly, taking longer breathes. "I know I would be putting you in danger, especially with this Magnussen business. And I couldn't stand…I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to you. And yet… I can't let you go."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock," she responded softly.

"Physically, no, probably not," he commented off handedly, as if trying to hide from the conversation.

"Sherlock," she said with a demanding tone, making him finally look up at her. "As you stated, I dated Jim Moriarty. I was probably in more danger then, than at any time in my life, even if none of us knew it. I was in danger of losing my job after helping you fake your death. I put up with seeing all of my friends suffering for _two years_ because of what we did. I _know_ you're a selfish man… but that's the man I fell in love with. No matter what happens, I would gladly be in danger for you."

"Don't say things like that, Molly-"

She grabbed his wrists. "No, I will say as I please, because it's true." He looked into her eyes and saw her resolve. This idea of love, of sacrifice, he was familiar with it. He knew it the day he jumped from this very building. But he couldn't allow it, not from Molly, not when she had sacrificed so much for him already. He started to pull away. She tightened her grip. "I would gladly be in danger," she repeated, "…because I know you would always save me." She took a deep breath. "Always."

"But what if I can't?"

"You're _Sherlock Holmes._ "

"Your belief in me astounds me."

She smiled a little. "That's because I'm your friend; John would say the same. That's what friends do."

A look of adoration crossed his face. "If we've learned anything from this conversation, I think it's that I think of you as more than a friend."

Molly was silent, letting that sink in. She stared into his eyes. Sherlock Holmes could be a good liar, but she didn't see it in his eyes. Not this time. She swallowed nervously as his eyes continued to hold hers. "H-How _do_ you feel? About me?"

Sherlock took a deep breath and stood up, closing in much of the space between them. The corner of his lips flicked up in a half smile. "I've been in love with you… for a while…Molly Hooper." And with that he leaned in like he had so many times before. Her heart raced, and instead of her cheek, his lips finally found hers.


End file.
